


Tie a Rope Around My Wrist and Call It Love

by greenglowsgold



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, I can't believe I wrote a SoulmateAU, Infidelity, M/M, Puckurt is the endgame ship I swear, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenglowsgold/pseuds/greenglowsgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt found his soulmate's name on his wrist a few months before he turned 17, which should have been the start of his romantic life getting less complicated. But then, there were a lot of things he didn't get quite right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Pterawaters' fault. Apparently it's really easy to pressure me into writing weird AUs.

"Ten bucks says Rachel gets the solo for this one in under three minutes," Puck whispered from Kurt's left. It wasn't really a whisper — Mercedes glanced over her shoulder at them and rolled her eyes — but at least it hid well enough beneath Mr. Schuester's excited description of the new song they were going to try out today.

"You just want ten dollars," Kurt accused lightly.

Puck shrugged.

"...so we'll be focusing on movement for this one," Schuester was saying, shuffling through papers as he talked. "I think we can really kick the dancing up a notch if we work at it, and this is the perfect song to..."

"Ah, he's not even thinking about the vocals," Kurt sighed, slumping back into his seat.

"Two minutes, then."

"When do we start timing? When she raises her hand or when he gives out the music and she gets the solo part right away anyway?"

"Does that mean you're taking the bet?"

Kurt scoffed and opened his mouth to tell Puck he had no intention of just _giving_ away ten dollars today, but was interrupted by Mr. Schuester,  who was still talking but had begun to hand out sheet music as well. Rachel got her copy first, and said nothing in protest as she looked it over, so Kurt assumed that took care of that question. The papers worked their way toward the back row, where Kurt and Puck sat to lean against the wall (because Kurt hadn't been sleeping well since his dad came back from the hospital, and Puck complained that it was weird being back in a regular school after juvie).

"She's not freaking out," Puck whispered — really this time — as he shuffled through the music to pass over Kurt's copy. "Means she got it right away, and you owe me ten."

"I never said I would—" Kurt was cut off when he reached for his music and Puck's fingers brushed against his. A tiny jolt, like an electric shock, danced through his hand and down into his left wrist, where the skin was covered with a tight wristband, because he was waiting for...

Oh, God. He knew it didn't always work that way: some people didn't feel it happening at all, and proximity hardly mattered, so neither did the fact that he was sitting right next to a highly attractive boy, and this might not be the real deal at all. Then again, it could be, and dark letters could be writing the name of his soulmate across his wrist right this second, while they sat beside each other in Glee club.

"Kurt?" Puck asked, leaning a little further into his space when he didn't respond right away. "Y'okay?"

"Fine," Kurt whispered. Puck didn't seem to have noticed anything at all, but that was fine; soulmates often got each other's names at totally different times, it was hardly an exact science. Well, he amended, it was hardly science at all. His fingers hovered at the edge of his wristband, but he didn't lift the fabric to look.

Why wasn't he looking?

He'd imagined this moment a thousand times, always figured he'd lift the band right away, fast enough to see the letters forming on his skin (always figured he'd be in love at the time, too, and that both names would come at once, but he knew he was kind of a hopeless dreamer). But he waited, and waited, and glanced over at Puck again, at the band on Puck's own left wrist, which hadn't so much as twitched. It all felt a bit more frightening than magical.

"Kurt?"

"I have— I left," he tried, getting louder with the second attempt, enough to catch Mr. Schuester's attention. "Something in my locker," he continued haltingly, jerking to his feet and grabbing his bag. "I'll be just a minute, be back to..." He held up the music still clutched in one hand, as if to prove he'd return shortly, and rushed out of the room. Probably to everyone's general confusion, but he hardly cared to notice.

He moved quickly down the hall until he could duck into the closest bathroom, relieved to find himself alone there, in the quiet of after-school hours. He just needed something. A minute. To think.

God, was it really Puck? He couldn't say he was _disappointed_ , exactly; Puck was more than attractive, much nicer to be around than he'd been a year earlier, and their adventure of rehearsing on Vitamin D had accidentally proved him at least a little bisexual. Kurt just... wouldn't have expected it. Ever.

But who knew; maybe Puck _had_. Maybe, Kurt thought, smiling a little at the idea, Puck had already gotten his name and was waiting. You couldn't really tell when it happened for anyone else, because just about everyone wore the wristbands for privacy (at least until they found each other). Maybe that was why Puck had been talking to him more often lately, sitting closer to him in the back row and walking with him to the parking lot.

Kurt looked down at his wrist again, took a deep breath, only slightly shaky. It still felt weird, but also sort of... okay. Good, even. A new step, if not with someone he loved, then at least with someone he knew, and liked. A lot, really.

He blew out a tiny laugh. What was he so worried about? This was _Puck_ , who'd spent over half of their shared study hall yesterday folding scrap paper into football after tiny little football so he could shoot them through the makeshift goal of Kurt's binder rings without asking Kurt to pick them up off the floor after each shot.

Three more "last" deep breaths, with excitement making his fingers shake, and he felt ready. He was going to have this moment he'd remember forever in a dirty bathroom at his high school, but he didn't care. Kurt peeled off the wristband in one quick motion, revealing the name scrawled across the inside of his wrist:

_Blaine Anderson_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact (that won't fit anywhere in the fic proper) #1:
> 
> The soulmate's name always appears on the inside of the left wrist, which is why wedding rings are worn on the left hand. It's always black, like ink, but it isn't a tattoo, it's a physical change in the color of the skin. It's always in a slightly loose script, rather than block type letters.
> 
> Some people think the scrawl is God's handwriting. Some people think the imperfection is proof that it's a natural, biological event (similar to the way a person's face is slightly asymmetrical).


	2. Scrambled eggs in the morning

In theory, the business of soulmates should have been fairly straightforward. One person in the whole world, meant just for you, and a matching pair of names to guide the two together. It was a lovely picture.

In practice, Kurt admitted, the system broke down a little. Once you had a name, it was usually easy to find them; often enough, they were someone you'd met or would meet naturally, and if not, there were websites and services for locating each other. The real problems tended to come up because not everyone got a name at a convenient time. No one could count on that.

Most people found their name somewhere in their 20's, some had to wait a bit longer, and some were lucky enough to know in grade school, but there were cases on the extreme ends as well. Roughly, it fit into a bell curve, like most things did. Kurt had heard stories of people's grandparents finding their soulmates at 80, and a baby had been born last year with a name already visible — not a first, but rare enough to be notable. Sometimes, people died without ever getting a name. Everyone always felt very sorry for them.

But here Kurt was, not even 17 and already set. He didn't have to worry about whether he'd find someone, because the name was permanently etched into his skin. A stranger after all, but not out of reach; they'd have a natural inclination to gravitate toward each other. And as soon as they met, well. He'd have his romantic future sorted out long before his career, apparently.

Still, it had been nearly a week since that day, and he hadn't told anyone.

"Something on your mind, son?"

Kurt glanced up from his breakfast, momentarily speechless. He and his father had a policy of 'if it's important, he'll tell me,' which they stuck to religiously. For Burt to feel like he had to _ask_ , Kurt must have been putting out some pretty strange vibes lately. "It's nothing, Dad. Just thinking about an assignment."

Burt nodded, glancing back at his newspaper. "School's going well, then." That one wasn't a question, because he knew the answer already.

"Great, actually. And Glee club has a full house again, for Sectionals. Though that's not for a couple more months."

"Doing anything interesting?"

"We haven't settled on a set list, yet." Kurt fiddled with his fork, took another bite. "Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"How are you and Carole doing?"

That got Burt's attention. Well, he couldn't be the only one to ask questions out of the blue. If they were going for it this morning, then they were _really_ going for it. "We're just fine, Kurt. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," Kurt shrugged, though he doubted very much he was convincing. "It's been a while, and I know you were ready to, uh... move in, before."

Burt paused, fork halfway from his plate, considering. "Would you be alright, if we got there again?"

Kurt's eyes flicked down before he could stop them, to the curl of letters in plain sight on his father's wrist. Not covered today, but maybe that would change when he went to work. Kurt used to judge his dad's mood by whether or not the name was visible on any given day. They were a little better at communicating now, but it was still useful.

It was covered up less and less often, lately, despite how close Burt had grown to Carole. Kurt suspected it had less to do with needing a reminder, and more to do with Burt being genuinely happy, letting the past and present hang out together. Elizabeth was a name on his skin, but Carole was _here_.

"Yeah, I'd be fine with it," Kurt said. He chewed his lip for a moment before letting it slip right back out (bad habit, terrible for him), and gave up on his breakfast, clearing the plate to the sink.

"Hey," Burt called, still holding the newspaper in one hand and his fork in the other, as if to give the illusion of a casual conversation. "You sure you're alright? I mean, in general."

Kurt thought of the name on his wrist, the bullying at school, the odd sense of uncertainty that had seeped into his mind lately. "I'm sure."

 

It was still on his mind when Kurt got to school, and he nearly walking into a door from the distraction. ‘ _Get a grip_ ,’ he told himself firmly, after waving off a freshman’s apology for opening said door. ‘ _And stop thinking about this so much. You’re not supposed to have to think about this so much._ ’

Whether it was meant to be or not, though, soulmates were much more prominent in his mind than any of his classes. By the end of the day, the halls of the school building felt crowded, full of people a little more like strangers than they’d been a week ago. He watch students pass by with their wristbands and bracelets and long sleeves, wondered how many of them had names under the material already. A few, at least. He wondered if there might be a student at this school named Blaine Anderson.

If there were, he hoped they didn’t see him get shoved into the row of lockers.

No one came around to worry over him and explain how they were destined, but Puck did appear out of the rush of students a few moments later. “Hey, Kurt. Where’ve you been?”

“In school,” Kurt replied. “Haven’t you?” He peeled himself gingerly off the lockers, shifting his bag to the other side.

“Well, sure, but— Did you fuck up your shoulder?”

Shrugging (a stupid, stupid idea, he realized with a wince), Kurt turned to continue down the hall. “It’s nothing. Slept on it wrong.”

“Huh.” Puck said nothing more on the subject, but he circled around to Kurt’s left side, walking between him and the rest of the student body. “Anyway, I meant: where’s your head been? You’re spaced, and I know you are because Mercedes was complaining about you not responding to her texts, or something.”

“Again, my answer is school. An education takes up plenty of time, you know. For some of us.”

“Hey, I actually go to math classes, now,” Puck protested. “Most of the others, too. That takes time.”

“Yes, well— Where are we going?” Kurt faltered as they made a turn; he’d been thoughtlessly following Puck’s direction, but this wasn’t the way to the parking lot.

Not bothering to slow down, Puck rolled his eyes. “Glee. Duh.”

“Right,” Kurt agreed, shaking himself out of the confusion. “Right, because it’s…” Wednesday? No. “Tuesday.”

“Yeah, it’s Tuesday.” Puck laughed. “Jeez, Kurt, get your head in the game. Don’t make me quote High School Musical at you.”

Kurt couldn’t contain a wicked grin at that. “You know High School Musical?”

Puck scowled, shouldering open the door to the music room so he could turn and give Kurt the full force of his disapproving look. “Shut up, man. You know I got a little sister. That shit gets major screen time at my house.”

After that, they were plunged into the midst of a very passionate argument about performance costumes, and Kurt was kept otherwise busy appeasing Mercedes for all the time he’d missed lately, and that was the end of potential for teasing Puck about Disney teen-hits. Even with all the activity, though, his thoughts strayed. He’d blame that on the fact that Mercedes got distracted trying to take the solo from Rachel (and succeeding, for the moment, which made Kurt doubt they would ever sing this after today) and that the song was one he knew well enough to sing without paying much attention to the music he’d been passed (by Mike, this time, with no more electric shocks).

“ _And God knows I love you, but you’re not the one for me._ ”

Harmonizing from the back was peaceful, the song much more sedate than last week’s dance extravaganza. ‘ _Mercedes has a good voice for this,_ ’ he thought, and, ‘ _I wonder how many others…_ ’ because he had no kind of self-control today. His eyes strayed from Mercedes’ face to the collection of bangles covering both her wrists, which coordinated to the color of her headband, he was pleased to note, before giving up entirely on exercising focus and restraint.

Only three members of New Directions had bare wrists: Mike and Tina, who’d walked into the first rehearsal of the year with entwined fingers and matching names, and Rachel, who’s skin was still blank but who was sure the moment it filled in would be spectacular and felt no need to keep it to herself. Even Mr. Schuester always wore long sleeves to school, and sometimes Kurt wondered whether that was because his ex-wife’s name was on his wrist, or because it wasn’t.

Other than that, everyone kept themselves covered, no way to tell unless someone spoke up. Or unless someone else asked them.

Seeing Mercedes headed in his direction at the end of rehearsal, Kurt ducked his head down and quickly left the room (she’d drag his entire crisis out of him in moments, if she got the chance). He ended up in the middle of the cluster Puck, Mike, and Tina had made to discuss football, which was a convenient enough disguise. He tugged his sleeves as far down as they would go (a nervous habit he’d been developing this week), which was nearly into his palms, and tried to slip into the conversation.

“It’s a good idea,” Mike was saying.

“It’s a weird idea,” Puck countered.

“It’s a _stupid_ idea.” Tina sighed, unwinding her hand from Mike’s so she could face the group fully. “The whole point of putting Artie on the team like that was because it would confuse everyone, and they wouldn’t jump to tackle a guy in a wheelchair, and obviously it worked, but it’s not going to keep working. The element of surprise wears off.”

“It hasn’t yet,” Mike pointed out.

Tina scoffed. “That’ll be true until it isn’t, and then what happens? If the rules say he can play football, then he can play football, and that includes getting tackled from all sides when the other teams figure out this isn’t a joke. I’m not saying he shouldn’t play, but—”

“You kinda are.” Puck raised his hands defensively at Tina’s glare. “Well you _are_.”

“I’m _saying_ ,” she continued, “he shouldn’t play like he expects never to get hurt. He’s hardly even thinking about it.”

Mike sighed. “If he starts taking hits, they’ll be pretty bad.”

“Yes, what is it with football players around here?” Kurt finally broke into the conversation. “Is there really that much repressed rage in the middle of Ohio?”

“S’not repressed anymore if they’re crushing ribs on the field, is it?” Puck said.

“Whatever it is, they go all out.” Mike grinned. “That’s how Puck got all that brain damage, right, Puck? Hazards of a wide receiver?”

Puck snorted and elbowed Mike in the side, shoving him back toward Tina.

“Oh, I hardly think it’s fair to attribute all of Puck’s damage to simple trauma,” Kurt said. “If he’d taken that many blows to the head, it would’ve messed up the symmetry of that pretty face a little more.”

“Hey, I think I heard a compliment in there somewhere.” Puck winked over his shoulder.

“Ah, never mind. Problems with auditory processing. You were right, Mike, it’s brain damage.”

“Bite me, Kurt.”

“Buy me dinner, first.”

“Guys, seriously.” Tina snapped her fingers for their attention. “I’m worried. I watch those games, you know. The other teams are getting pissed.”

Kurt nodded. “Tina has a point. And if the jocks at this school were fine with tipping Artie over in a port-a-potty, it won’t be long before the foreign meatheads are fine with doing it on the field.”

“It’s Coach Beiste’s decision, though.” Puck shrugged. “Can’t say I’m was too happy about it, either. Come back to find someone else doing half my job. Artie’s a cool guy, even if he needs, like, decades of help learning how to get a girl, but still…”

“Putting you back on the front lines isn’t going to help everything.”

Puck managed to look particularly hurt at that. Possibly, Kurt thought, because Mike opened the door and the light hit Puck at just the right moment to shift his expression to the softer side of ‘how could you.’

“You’ve wounded a fragile ego,” Kurt murmured to Tina. He reached back to pat Puck lightly on the arm.

Tina tsked. “That’s not what I meant; you know it. If you get the ball — _if_ you get the ball, which was the problem in the first place, right? — you’ll run with it fine, you’re good at that, but they certainly won’t have _any_ problems tackling _you_ , with about a million extra pissed-off points saved up from games where they got trashed. It’d be nicer if none of our members were in a full body cast for Sectionals.”

“We need better linebackers.” Mike threw a balled-up paper into the dumpster as they passed by, and it bounced off the rim.

“Yep.”

There seemed little more to say on the subject. After a few more futile musings, Mike and Tina waved themselves off toward her car. Kurt didn’t move to do the same, content to stand in the warm sun for a few minutes longer.

“Artie’s trying to get girls?” he asked, when Puck hung around as well.

“A girl,” Puck corrected. “Just one. And he sucks at it.”

One girl in particular. Kurt wondered… But he always wondered, now.

“Little dude has a crush.” Puck’s feet scraped against the ground, looking for something to catch on. “It’s probably cute or something,” he continued, sounding disapproving of the description.

‘How do you plan to help him out if you make that face at the very idea?’ Kurt wanted to say, but somehow his mouth changed it to: “Do you ever think about it?”

“What, crushing?” Puck grinned, leering in some weird suggestive-but-not-right-now sort of way that he must have practiced in the mirror. “I usually skip that part.”

“No. About your soulmate.”

Puck’s foot had become interested in a large acorn inexplicably present on the asphalt of the parking lot (inexplicable, because there weren’t any such trees nearby). “Random.”

Kurt shrugged.

It was surprising to hear Puck actually answer a moment later; Kurt had figured he’d just walk away. Or say something insulting. Or both. “I don’t, really. Why would I? Getting a name right now wouldn’t change anything.”

“Really?”

“I don’t feel like doing the lifetime thing yet, so whatever. Maybe later.” He cocked his head to the side as thought a thought had just occurred to him. “Haven’t actually looked at my wrist in months.”

Kurt did. He looked, and found Puck wearing the same dark, thin wristband he’d been wearing all week, and probably longer than that. It looked more utilitarian than anything, made to match just about anything as long as you weren’t too picky about fashion, comfortable enough to sleep with and sturdy enough to hold up well. He probably didn’t even have to take it off to shower.

Which meant, in all likelihood, that Kurt had been around the last time Puck had bothered to remove it. Not that he considered this an appropriate time to bring that up, given their unspoken vow of silence on the subject. In the quiet, Puck kicked the acorn repeatedly against the dumpster, an impossible picture of simply _not caring_. Kurt couldn’t decide whether it was terrifying or reassuring.

“Why don’t you ever play soccer in the spring?” he asked, watching Puck’s feet dance around the tiny nut.

Puck didn’t answer, pulled his foot back and sent the acorn soaring into the grass where it disappeared. “I’ve gotta go help Artie.” He started walking away without a second look at Kurt, and waited until he was a few feet away before calling back over his shoulder, “My dad played soccer.”

Kurt waited until he was alone in the parking lot before making his way to his car. He supposed there was some logic to the theory of waiting for it to work out on his own. It wasn’t as though this Blaine was looking for him, either. Or not very effectively, anyway. Kurt shifted the car into reverse, humming along with the radio.

An egg hit the windshield. Kurt was so startled for a moment that he almost turned on the wipers, before remembering why that was a bad idea. A second egg hit the side mirror before Kurt could pinpoint where they were coming from: a group of boys standing in a huddle across the parking lot, clearly shouting along with the projectiles. Between the distance, the rolled-up windows, and the music, Kurt couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he knew anyway.

He pulled out quickly, drove a few blocks away before pulling over into the parking lot of a McDonald's. He rummaged around in the backseat for a towel; he had to clean this up before he got home. He had to work not to let his back tense — that wasn’t healthy at all, he knew — at the sight of the slime on the windows. He blew out a sigh, instead. Release the tension, don’t let it knot up the muscles.

‘ _Screw it_ ,’ he thought, taking the towel to the streaks of yellow and white. He had enough crap going on already. If something nice wanted to force its way into his life, he was damn well going to let it. He hit speed dial #3 on his phone, pinning it between his ear and his shoulder as it rang so he could keep working.

“Mercedes? No, I know. I know. I’ve been awful. But do you want to come over?”

 

It was a tribute to their friendship — and a sign of exactly how exciting his information was — that it took Mercedes exactly 0.2 seconds to go from demanding an excuse for ditching her to squealing enthusiastically with him over “the possibilities, Kurt, think about it!” Which was easy for him to do, since she spent the next hour or so talking about it, too.

“You’re so lucky, you know,” she said, while they lay on the bed later. “Geez, you know my parents didn’t get each other’s names until they were almost thirty?”

“Yeah, well. What if he’s… I don’t know, a jerk?”

Mercedes raised herself onto her elbows so he could clearly see the incredulous look she shot him. “How could he be?”

It wasn’t completely reassuring, but in the end, Kurt didn’t have that long to worry about it. He met Blaine two days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact (that won't fit anywhere in the fic proper) #2:
> 
> Homosexuality is more accepted in this world than in ours. It’s harder (though not impossible, certainly) to argue against such a thing when the concept of soulmates is so universally supported and sometimes the names pair two guys or two girls. A popular counter-argument is that same-sex soulmates are meant to have a purely platonic relationship. Still, same-sex marriage is legal in all 50 states and most of the world’s countries. Similarly, other ‘outside the norm’ relationships — such as interracial — are more mainstream. (Side note: gender roles and effeminophobia are alive and well, which is one of the big reasons Kurt still takes a lot of crap in school in this verse.)
> 
> Bisexuality, on the other hand, suffers greater erasure and prejudice. All that ‘if you don’t choose, you’re just a slut’ crap gets multiplied tenfold when, in the end, everyone is meant to end up with one other person, and at that point, any attraction to the other sex as well seems superfluous, right?
> 
> Well, it’s a different world, but still plenty fucked up.


End file.
